


Obeying Orders

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: BDSM, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Ex-lovers Malcolm and Rose are reunited. But is the magic still there? Reed/f. (07/27/2003)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 2.26 "The Expanse."  


* * *

Malcolm Reed stood wearily in the shower, trembling and watching a steady trickle of his blood being caught up in the mini-vortex swirling down the drain. He'd been injured yet again but, this time, not in the line of duty—and the normal channels for help were, very necessarily, off-limits.

Turning off the water, he peeked out at the chronometer in his cabin: it was almost time. Regular visits to sickbay, for injuries obtained whilst protecting Enterprise and her crew, had given him a good working knowledge of what remedies Dr Phlox had available. Being the ship's Chief of Security was also helpful, allowing him access to virtually every locked door on Enterprise. No personnel had been reported injured or ill that day so, when he was sure the Denobulan doctor had gone off to dinner, and sickbay would be empty, he would slip along to the tiny medical facility and, literally, help himself.

Drying off in his cramped cabin, which was only slightly easier than doing so in his miniscule shower-room, he caught sight of his reflection in the full-length wall mirror beside the door. His hips were patterned with darkening bruises and the friction wounds circling his wrists oozed and wept.

As the remaining water droplets cooled on his body, he shivered and towelled himself more vigorously, anxious to get dressed. It was then that he glimpsed another blemish on his pale skin—this one self-inflicted. Tattooed on his right hip was a rose and the sight brought with it memories of kindness and laughter—things which no longer featured in Reed's life.

The posting to Enterprise had, for Malcolm, been the fulfilment of a dream. He'd been surprised when Jonathan Archer had interviewed him for the Armoury post on the ship and stunned when he got it. Knowing he would be serving under the son of the late, great, Henry Archer, a brilliant man who'd long been a hero of the younger Reed, had made him almost incoherent with excitement.

Disappointment, however, soon followed. Although his new job allowed the inventive Lieutenant to perfect several weapons ideas he'd been developing in his previous posting, he largely spent his time trying to protect and defend his shipmates from the dangers into which their inept Captain led them.

Jonathan Archer had proved to be the antithesis of his father: impulsive, immature, arrogant—and certainly no diplomat. In fact Sub-Commander T'Pol, the ship's Vulcan First Officer, who was often on the receiving end of sexist insults and racist jibes from her Captain, showed herself to have far more leadership ability, dignity, and plain old common-sense, than Archer would ever possess.

Archer's one skill was his charm which, in order to get exactly what he wanted out of life, he could turn on and off at will. He'd used it to gain his position on Enterprise, he'd used it to get his personal chef aboard and he'd used it to have his best friend installed as Chief Engineer. He'd even used it to gradually befriend the shy and insecure Malcolm Reed—but now Reed was discovering exactly what that charm concealed.

Relieved to see that no more blood was running out of him, Malcolm stealthily made his way through the ship to the familiar territory of sickbay, deserted now except for Phlox's weird menagerie of pets—ostensibly kept for medicinal purposes. Locking himself in, he rummaged for what he needed then, cursing the uncontrollable shaking of his hands, he clumsily injected himself with a hypo of pain relief.

This time had been worse than all the others. The day had already been stressful for Malcolm: they'd encountered a ship from a race of people they'd never previously met, but who had comparable technology and weapons capabilities. His senses had been on high alert when Archer, in his usual, neighbourly manner, had invited a delegation to visit Enterprise—without first considering the security implications. Fortunately, the aliens seemed friendly and trustworthy, behaving immaculately aboard Enterprise and, in return, happily encouraging the Starfleet officers to visit their own ship. Still, the Lieutenant had been relieved when they'd gone.

He was summoned to the Captain's quarters just as his shift ended and, even recognising what might occur, knew he had to obey the order. It had been made plain to him from the outset that the penalty for disobedience was severe: Henry Archer's son had friends in high places and destroying the life and career of one lowly Armoury Officer could be achieved without much exertion.

When the Captain's door opened, Malcolm had been shocked to find himself facing a group of aliens which Archer had told him, earlier that day, had already left the ship. The Captain smiled "Ah, Malcolm, I'd like you to meet Captain Kreevan and his senior officers from the Torgut. It turns out they have the capability to manufacture some of the engine parts Trip's been anxious to replace since that last pounding we took from the Klingons—and they're more than happy to trade for them."

For a moment his heart soared hopefully. There had obviously been a misunderstanding: this summons hadn't been what he'd thought. He was going to be asked to escort them to the shuttle bay—or maybe help them repair some weapons system or other in return for the needed components. It was only when he saw the manacles in the smiling Captain's hands that he realised he'd been right all along. Apparently, Archer's idea of facilitating trade extended to offering his guests the use of his own, personal, living, breathing sex toy. As always, when Archer touched him, Malcolm recoiled. As always, he was then given a direct order to comply with the Captain's wishes. The aliens were intensely curious and, although he tried to detach himself from the unfolding horror and focus his mind elsewhere, he couldn't help hearing them discussing the intimacies of his body as they poked, prodded and explored him.

Archer had then demonstrated his uses and invited his guests to taste for themselves. They laughed as Malcolm, humiliated and in pain, tried to wrench himself away until his wrists, shackled to the bulkhead, were raw. Several times, as their assault progressed, he'd been on the brink of losing consciousness but, with a hypospray of stimulant, Archer had cruelly revived him, relishing his control over every aspect of his subordinate's life.

At long last, discretion having been promised on both sides, it was time for the aliens to go. The Captain had released him, ordering him to leave before he returned from escorting his guests off the ship. The consequences of not doing so at the forefront of his mind, Malcolm had, of course, obeyed. Then, carefully avoiding meeting anyone in the corridors, he'd crept back to his quarters, like a wounded animal, and wept.

Tears were threatening again now as he fumbled to clean and dress his wrists, wishing he knew how to deal with the deeper harm that had been done to him. Archer had been abusing him for months and he'd grown used to being taken against his will—somehow managing to detach himself from reality until the degradation was over. It had made him jittery though: nervous of his male crewmates, uncomfortable with the females, becoming more withdrawn each day.

Sessions in the enclosed space of Decon were nightmarish for Malcolm and—to his enormous embarrassment—the strain of concealing his anguish caused him to revert to an old childhood problem: bedwetting. He'd also begun biting his nails and fidgeting whenever he was required to be inactive for any length of time—much to the irritation of Sub-Commander T'Pol. He couldn't begin to imagine how he could discreetly cope with this latest development—multiple rape.

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he whirled in shock as he heard the sickbay doors swish open. He had locked them with his own security code—and only one other person aboard could override that.

Jonathan Archer smiled benevolently, if insincerely, as he entered sickbay, re-locking the door behind him. "Ah Malcolm, I thought I'd find you here: you left a little blood on my carpet and I was worried about you."

As the Captain moved towards him, Reed retreated backwards, colliding with a biobed, then upsetting a trolley of surgical instruments, before finding himself trapped in a corner with nowhere else to go. Archer continued smiling: "A little jumpy, aren't we?"

Reaching forward, he grabbed Malcolm by the forearm, carefully avoiding fouling himself on the bloodied mess the manacles had made of Reed's wrist. "Come with me, Lieutenant. You're in luck—we're having more guests tonight—and guess who's the entertainment."

Unable to even contemplate another round of such brutality, Malcolm dropped to his knees, effectively stopping the Captain in his tracks. Furious, Archer swung round and backhanded him viciously: "Cooperate Lieutenant: that's an order. And you know what will happen if you disobey."

Standing back, he waited while his dazed subordinate struggled to his feet, breathing heavily. Malcolm tottered forward then crumpled to the floor, his rebellious legs refusing to hold him. Archer was incensed "Get up, you little shit." He swung a kick at the Lieutenant, connecting with his ribs, then started trying to pull him up by the hair. "You've embarrassed me once today, with your whining and complaining. Don't dare do it again. Now, move!"

Groggily, Malcolm made it as far as his knees—then, suddenly, he heard weapons fire, and saw sparks at the control panel, as the doors to sickbay opened to admit Commander Trip Tucker.

Tucker had previously been a casual friend of Reed's—but he was also Archer's best friend and his conflicted emotions showed in his face. He pointed a phase pistol in Archer's direction: "Stay put, Cap'n. Ah don' wanna shoot, but if ah have ta, ah will!" Archer whirled, beaming. "Trip! Good timing. Malcolm's not himself right now. I don't know what's wrong but he just tried to attack me with a laser scalpel. You'd better call security."

Tucker moved a little closer and peered at the injured officer on the floor "Believe me, ah already have. Move away, Malcolm. Its gonna be OK."

Reed saw two armed crewmen arrive to stand behind Trip and did as he was told—but Archer sprang towards him, snatching up and activating the laser scalpel on his way. Trip fired and the instrument skittered to the floor, closely followed by the Captain's unconscious body. The engineer sighed, shaking his head. "Jeez, Jon. Did ya have ta make it worse? OK guys, guess ya'd better lock 'im up."

As Archer was manhandled out of sickbay by the security team, Malcolm glimpsed, with some relief, the incongruous sight of Dr Phlox loping towards the door, closely followed by the willowy form of Sub- Commander T'Pol.

Trip was beside Reed now and his strong arms were hauling him to his feet, leading him to a biobed where Phlox immediately began his examination. Nearby, T'Pol stood, impassive, silently watching the doctor work—but an eyebrow lifted in enquiry as the Denobulan turned to report to her. "He has internal bleeding but I'll make sure any evidence from his assault is preserved and presented to you by morning." The Vulcan inclined her head slightly then, ordering Tucker to follow her, she exited sickbay.

Phlox was already helping Reed out of his uniform and into a medical gown. His investigation was gentle, discreet and, thanks to a sedative, caused minimum distress. In no time at all, his patient was pain-free, and resting quietly while the Denobulan finished taking samples and swabs. Minor surgery, under a light anaesthetic, followed—but within two hours, Malcolm was back in bed, awake, and startled to see the concerned face of Trip Tucker peeking round the privacy curtain.

Speaking was a major effort, but Malcolm needed to try: "Trip? How—how did you know?"

Tucker smiled sadly. "Actually, it was all thanks to yer own..."—he hesitated on the verge of saying "paranoia", realising that Reed had good reason not to be very trusting,—"...cautiousness. Remember those security cameras ya installed in the Captain's quarters and Ready Room after the incident with our ol' Suliban friend Silik? Yer relief in the Armoury noticed they were still runnin' jus' over an hour after ya wen' off shift. He scanned the recordin' an' called me when he saw what was happenin'. An', before ya ask, ah made sure he won't say nuthin' ta anyone else outside a court o' law."

Comprehension flooded Reed's brain. Realising the Captain's safety could be at risk in a situation so full of unknowns, he'd switched the cameras on when the Aliens had come aboard. When his shift ended, and he'd received the summons from Archer, he'd forgotten to turn them off and had, inadvertently, recorded his own humiliation and condemned the captain at the same time.

Trip was watching him closely "He's hurt ya before too, hasn't he?"

Malcolm nodded miserably. "It started not long after I had my run-in with the Romulan mine. He risked such a lot for me and I was so grateful..." His voice tailed off as the memory of kindness, followed by betrayal, brought a lump to his throat. "The first time he asked me to sleep with him I refused and he didn't like it. From then on, he made it an order, backed up by threats."

Squeezing his eyes shut against gathering tears, he continued; "I was frightened, Trip. Enterprise is my home now. I didn't want to be thrown off the ship and out of Starfleet. I—I've nowhere else to go." Suddenly aware that he was not alone in his distress, he turned to the engineer. "Oh, Trip, you've just had to shoot your best friend and its all my fault. I'm so sorry."

"Don' be. He was in the wrong, Malcolm. Anyways, ah should be the one apologisin' fer not seein' somethin' was up. Ah heard rumours at the Academy that Jon had a few..." he gave a short bark of laughter, "...weird sexual proclivities—but ah thought it was all jest muck-rakin' 'cause he was Henry Archer's son an' folk had ta try ta pull 'im down.

Despite himself, Malcolm yawned and, abruptly, Tucker stood up. "Hell, ah better get goin'. Phlox said not to tire ya out an' here ah am doin' jus' that. This ain't gonna be easy for either of us Malcolm, but we'll survive. Never doubt it."

Under Phlox's care and counselling, Malcolm recovered well and, with dignity and courage, endured the harrowing process of giving evidence at Archer's trial. As expected, the security tapes were instrumental in securing a conviction and, with T'Pol's resignation from Vulcan High Command freeing her, upon receipt of a field commission, to assume the captaincy of Enterprise, life was soon returning to normal.

The tentative friendship begun by Trip and Malcolm, during their near- death experience on Shuttlepod One, had never really developed—but now, at Tucker's request, the two men began to socialise together often, Malcolm gradually becoming more comfortable in Trip's company. Three months after his final ordeal at Archer's hands, Malcolm accepted Trip's invitation to spend a few days of shore leave with him on Valdor V, an Earth-like planet in the Brivaris System.

Although located in what was laughingly referred to as the "asshole of the galaxy", Valdor V had been home to several ancient civilisations and was known for producing fine musicians and artists. It also boasted magnificent scenery and its people had a reputation for friendliness and good hospitality.

Anxious to be rid of their luggage, the two men checked into their hotel first. Predictably, ever concerned with orderliness, Malcolm opted to unpack before heading out to explore the nearby seaside town of Parros. His room had a balcony, with a glorious view of rugged mountains sweeping down to a sparkling sea, and he was enjoying the clean, fresh air at the open balcony doors when the nearby com-unit beeped. "Hey Malcolm, ain'tcha got yer damned unpackin' done yet?"

He smiled at the engineer's impatience: "For goodness sake Trip, I haven't taken very long! I just like to get things on hangers before they crease."

Tucker laughed, "Don' worry 'bout that. Ya won't need them anymore anyways."

"Trip, don't talk nonsense! Of course I'll need..." Malcolm frowned, puzzled, as the channel was abruptly closed while he was still replying.

Suddenly, something cold touched his neck. Before he could react, there was brief pressure and a hiss—then his legs gave way beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. Panic seized him as his vision blurred and a creeping paralysis invaded his body: "Trip! Help me..."

A floorboard creaked and someone leaned over Malcolm and began removing his clothes. "You're wasting your time, Lieutenant: Trip's mine—always has been. He knows how to obey my orders and he's done me proud getting you here. Now he's off enjoying his shore leave while we...um, finish some outstanding business."

Malcolm's heart pounded wildly in response to the voice: Jonathan Archer obviously still had influence enough to get himself out of jail.

Archer ran his fingers lightly down Reed's paralysed body, intruding in his most secret places as of right. "I'm afraid I couldn't find you Captain Kreevan and his officers but, during the voyage here, I met quite a number of guys in Valdor V's merchant fleet who reminded me of them. Now they're really anxious to get to know you, so be sure you make them feel welcome." He turned away for a moment: "Come on in boys: the party's paid for and we're ready to go!"

As the door opened and several other individuals entered the room he chuckled, still fondling his captive: "It should be a fascinating experience all round, Malcolm. The Valdorians are all big guys and they have barbs on their dicks—its something to do with stimulating egg production in their females, to aid conception." He leaned closer and Reed felt nauseous: "Kinda sounds like it'll really hurt, huh?"

His limbs limp and uncooperative, Malcolm was dragged across the room and thrown onto the bed. Without preamble, someone carelessly jerked up his hips and forced their way between his legs, roughly wrenching them apart. The savageness of what followed tore the first of many anguished screams from his throat—whilst Jonathan Archer, aroused beyond measure, watched and enjoyed his vengeance.

The promised barbs raked at delicate membrane, intensifying Reed's already unbearable pain. His limbs were twisted roughly and his body thoughtlessly thrown around to accommodate each assailant's size or personal preference. As exhaustion and blood loss took their toll, his screams gradually diminished to hoarse, tortured moans. Archer laughed: "What's the matter, Lieutenant? Missing your security cameras?"

Kneeling at the side of the bed, he smiled at Malcolm's pitiful groans: "Nobody's gonna rescue you this time, Lieutenant. Trip had no choice before: he wasn't the only one to see the recording. You don't think he did it because he WANTED to? He's mine, Malcolm—has been for years. Mine and only mine."

It was well over three hours before the merchantmen tired of their entertainment and began drifting out of the room and back to their ship. Eventually, Archer left too, giving hushed orders to the one remaining Valdorian—a brawny youngster who had been made to wait until his elders were finished before being given his turn at using Malcolm.

Obviously inexperienced, the boy's assault was clumsy and frenzied but short-lived. At its conclusion, he leaned close to his victim and growled in his ear: "The other human wants me to kill you, but I'm not a murderer. We're going on a little journey, you and me, and, if you do as I say, you might live."

Nonchalantly, he picked up the battered officer, threw him over his shoulder then, contacting his ship, was transported to a remote part of the countryside where Malcolm was tossed into a damp, wooded gorge. "There's a human settlement not far to the south. You'd be wise to go there."

As the whine of a transporter whisked the Valdorian youth away, Malcolm surrendered to unconsciousness.

A fierce roar of thunder, followed immediately by torrential rain, brought the injured Lieutenant back to awareness. Soaked and shivering, he managed to roll painfully onto his stomach then, teeth clenched to stop himself from crying out, scramble to his knees, using the slender trunk of a sapling to haul himself the rest of the way to his feet.

For a while he just stood there, his head spinning and stomach roiling with nausea. Clutching the tree to keep upright, an odd, warm, stickiness caught his attention and, looking down, he saw fresh blood between his thighs and running down his legs, mingling with the rain. Biting back a sob, he began threading his way upward through the dense, musty-smelling, undergrowth, thorns and jagged twigs clawing at his naked flesh, his only thought to find a place to shelter from the storm, to rest and lick his wounds.

Progress was agonising and slow, the ground slippery and his vision blurred by the driving rain. At the top of the slope, he peered at his surroundings, desperate for some sign of habitation and help, but with no clear sight of civilisation he was forced to start forward again. Unsteady, and succumbing to weariness, he only managed another 100 metres or so before losing his footing and tumbling, uncontrollably, back down the incline.

Close to despair, he was once more struggling to his feet when a movement, a little way ahead, froze him in place. Among the bushes, and rapidly coming towards him, was a dark shape: an animal of some sort, large and shaggy with a sharp muzzle and sharper teeth visible in its open mouth. Panic swept over him as the beast broke into a run and launched itself forward, knocking him back against one of the more substantial trees.

Malcolm landed hard on his hip and, instinctively, curled and threw his arms up to shield himself, peering past them into the gloom. The animal had backed off a little—but he was rapidly losing the will to care. His body was shutting down: fear, pain and blood loss, combined with exhaustion and creeping cold, made him consciously decide to lower his guard and let nature take its course. If he was lucky, his throat would be torn out quickly and he'd know very little of his death.

Suddenly, he heard a woman's voice—cursing vehemently. The beast's head whipped round and it loped off in her direction, leaving him alone and trembling. The rain was getting heavier and he could no longer make out the words but he could still hear her voice. From its tone, it seemed to be scolding, moving nearer all the time, and, a moment later, he was again face-to-face with the beast—but, this time, it had brought company.


	2. Chapter 1

Rose O'Leary's career as an archaeologist had allowed her to travel widely and she'd become well known in her field, landing a much- coveted assignment heading up the excavation of ancient temple ruins, now buried in the forest at Novos, on Valdor V. Six months after her arrival, and despite having rather basic living conditions on the fringes of the site, it still seemed like a dream come true!

It was early evening and she was out for a postprandial walk with her dog, Monty, brought from home as a half-grown pup and now the biggest canine she'd ever set eyes on. Although there was now a small community of human archaeologists living around the ruins with her, she was ever aware of the remoteness of their location and glad of the sense of protection Monty gave her when she chose to shun human companionship and go off on her own.

Tonight's route took her along a river valley less than half a kilometre from their camp. Nearer the water it was overgrown, but not so badly as to make walking difficult, and Monty was able to bound a little way ahead, continually turning back to see if she was still following. As often happened in that part of the countryside, a thunderstorm had blown up suddenly and, pitifully glad that she'd worn her waterproof jacket, she'd been caught in something close to a monsoon.

Hurrying towards home, she swore meaningfully as Monty swerved off into the undergrowth, burrowing into the bushes as if on the trail of an irresistible scent. Calling him back, but being ignored, she followed, repeatedly getting smacked wetly in the face by drenched branches as she ploughed her way forward. Finally catching up with the dog, Rose's curiosity was piqued and she parted the foliage to get a better look at his find, recoiling almost instantly.

"Oh my God. Get away, Monty. Let me see!"

Reluctantly obeying, the dog let her pull him back and sat down as she pushed through the last restraining twigs. Before her, huddling sideways against a tree, was a man—naked, bloodied and bedraggled. Pale and shivering, he was awkwardly twisted and, quite clearly, his consciousness was fading fast.

Blocking his view of her impetuous pet, she knelt and wrapped him in her jacket, trying to speak to him reassuringly but knowing that shock was making her babble. His remaining strength deserted him then, however, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Rose fished in her pants pocket for the communication device she always carried. "O'Leary to base camp. O'Leary to base."

Initial static gave way to a boyish voice with a Scottish burr: "Hi Rose, its JJ here. What's the problem?"

Sighing with relief, she launched into her story "JJ, get the Doc and come out to the river, about 50 meters upstream of the stepping stones. I've found a man here, injured. He's just passed out and he looks bad, so hurry. And bring something to carry him on." JJ acknowledged her request then quickly cut the channel.

The storm was moving on and the light level began to lift so, while she waited, Rose turned back to the casualty and inspected him a little more closely. Much of his face was disfigured by swelling and bruises but she guessed he was around her own age, dark haired and slightly built, his fingers long and slender but with ragged, bitten nails. Her gaze wandered across his torso then halted abruptly as it came to something very familiar: peeking out below her loaned jacket was a tattoo.

Despite the years that had come between them, it was still vivid in her memory, as was its owner. As compact and shy as he was, it perched on his right hipbone, partly obscured by bruising—a perfectly rendered rose.

One of Rose's close friends, and a colleague on the excavation, was Vince Petrie, a retired doctor from Australia who took care of the health of the project team in their, rather utilitarian, clinic. He and JJ came crashing through the forest, panting a little, and descended on her with faces lined with concern. Still stunned at her discovery, Rose edged backwards and let the older man work, watching as he scanned and gently examined the still form among the trees.

"Will—will he live?"

The doctor frowned. "Somebody didn't care much if he didn't—let's get him back to base and see what can be done."

She shuddered as they carefully straightened the tangled limbs and lifted their patient onto the stretcher. At the movement, he stirred, giving a brief cry of pain, and she involuntarily stepped forward: "Malcolm! Malcolm, its alright. You're safe now. Don't be afraid."

Vince's head whipped round "You KNOW him?"

She nodded shakily "Yes. We were friends a long time ago but lost touch. His name's Malcolm Reed and he was with Starfleet in those days."

He grunted; "You'd best check if they're missing him then, as soon as off-world communications clear up. An ion storm came in this afternoon and its been screwing up off-world comms and travel something awful. Picks the time too; I couldn't even get the damned cricket scores from Melbourne—and they say it could last for over a week. Just my bloody luck if I miss every match." He gave her a sideways glance as she stared at the figure on the stretcher; "You don't think he'd be here looking for you then?"

Rose shook her head "No. I'd just arrived in Mexico when we last saw each other—and I doubt if he followed my career any more than I kept up with his."

Vince sighed "Well, Rosie my girl, no matter how or why he got here, the poor sod will need all the help we can give him."

Base Camp comprised several prefabricated buildings on the edge of the excavation site. Rose's own little cabin stood at the fringe of the clearing, where it had been sited when she'd arrived, alone, as the founder of the project. It comprised a living area, which doubled as a bedroom and office, supplemented by a toilet-cum-shower room and a tiny kitchen.

Each other member of her team had their own bedroom in an accommodation block, but cooking, eating, showering and laundry facilities were communal—housed close to the laboratories and stores needed by the archaeologists as their work progressed. The Petries were the exception. The clinic, with their living quarters above, stood in the middle of the tiny settlement and was well enough equipped to deal with most emergencies, although staffed only by Vince and his wife Tessa, a retired nurse.

Tessa was waiting for them and, at a word from her husband, rushed ahead to prepare the facility's tiny operating room. After helping to deliver the patient there, JJ, a bright young student of 21, with a wispy ginger goatee and unfortunately large feet, was warned to discuss Malcolm's condition with no-one, then despatched to keep Monty company while Rose hovered anxiously by the door.

Scrubbing his hands while Tessa readied a sterile gown for him, Vince spoke to Rose over his shoulder: "I won't jerk you around, Rosie. He's been subjected to the most horrific multiple rape I've ever seen and he certainly wasn't meant to survive. My scans show significant internal damage and evidence of a paralytic drug in his bloodstream, which has obviously been used to subdue him."

He let Tessa help him don the gown then continued: "I'm going to carry out fairly extensive surgery now, then he'll need a lot of support and understanding—which is where you come in. I want you to go and clear your diary for a week—maybe longer, if this ion storm drags on and keeps us all from flying or travelling off-world. When he wakes up, you'll be the only familiar face in a strange, largely male, community and I want you with him and trying to find out what happened. The criminals who hurt him are still out there and only he can tell us who they are."

Stunned by his words, and the sudden turn of events, Rose silently left the doctor to his work and drifted over to her own quarters. She caught sight of herself in the polished aluminium door of her cabin and, with a start, realised that, as always, she was wearing the matching set of Aztec-design jewellery Malcolm had bought for her on their last night together in Mexico. It was her only adornment and she automatically reached for it every morning. Even now, fingering the delicate pendant and finely wrought earrings, she could still replay in her mind the moment he'd presented them to her.

Stepping inside, she peeled off her sodden clothing and towelled her hair, brushing it through in front of the mirror. Her eyes were drawn again to the jewellery and she carefully took it off, placing it on what served as her dressing table. The colours and patterns in the pendant were vibrant and alive and the earrings echoed them on a smaller scale. She had loved them the moment she'd seen them but, with calm deliberation, she covered them with her hand and scooped them into her waste bin.

After more than two hours, Vince arrived at her door. He was a tall, burly man, fond of safari suits (because of their multiple pockets) and medical gadgetry (though he rarely got his hands on any). Still handsome, with wavy silver hair and a deep, copper-brown tan, he had a paternal charm and screwball sense of humour that kept the archaeologists from taking themselves and their work too seriously. Rose liked him, and his snowy-haired, down-to-earth, wife, immensely—but felt uneasy, knowing his expectations of her.

He wiped his feet as he stepped inside: "Hi Rosie, girl. The rain's gone off, and I needed a bit of fresh air after surgery like that, so I thought I'd make a house call. Mr Reed's sleeping peacefully and doing quite well, considering all he's been through. Tessa's keeping an eye on him until we get back but you've got time to make me a nice cuppa and give Uncle Vince all your worries. Something tells me that you and my patient have more of a history than you're letting on."

Putting the kettle on to boil, Rose laughed lightly: "Sorry Vince, but you're reading a lot more into this than is necessary. We had a holiday romance, enjoyed it at the time, then went back to live in the real world and got on with our real lives—end of story. I...I know what you said about Malcolm needing support and suchlike, but I really can't give up the time. There's a lot in my diary right now and I'm sure he'll do fine anyway. He was a security officer, and they're all tough cookies, aren't they?"

The disapproving silence behind her made her anxious and she turned to flash the doctor one of her most winning smiles. "You know how it is for me, Vince. Archaeology's my life as well as my career and it has to come first."

His face impassive, the doctor nodded: "I know, Rosie, but he almost died. We don't have lots of modern drugs and fancy surgical techniques available out here in the back of beyond. His insides are only held together by my embroidery and a hell of a lot of luck. When he wakes up, he's going to be very sore and very scared and needing someone to talk to: someone he knows he can trust. You could be crucial to his recovery."

Handing him his tea, Rose sat opposite him, feigning relaxation: "Flattery will get you nowhere, Vince. I have a busy schedule and a lot of people depending on me. I won't let them down."

"But you'll let Malcolm down?"

She laughed nervously: "Don't be so melodramatic! Once Starfleet hears about him, he'll have all the best psychologists at his disposal. I'm telling you: he'll be fine!"

Vince put down his cup and got to his feet: "Thanks for the tea, Rosie. Now get your arse over to my clinic before I kick it there myself. If you do nothing else for him, you're going to be there when he comes round."

Tessa gave her a rather curious smile when she entered the clinic's Recovery Room and she realised that she'd been the main topic of conversation and speculation between the couple while they worked on their patient. The nurse stood up; "Hi there, Rosie love. Park yourself down here by the bed. He's getting a little restless and I think he'll wake up soon. Best if he sees a pretty face instead of my wrinkled old mug." She winked and headed through with Vince to his office, calling back to tell Rose to "just holler" if there were any problems. Rose thanked her and turned to the bed .

Surrounded by carefully placed pillows, Malcolm lay propped on his side, linked by tubes and wires to various drains, drips and monitors. Vince had reduced much of the swelling and he was more recognisable now but his face was still ashen: its thick, shapely eyebrows and long lashes starkly black against his pallor. Even his full lips, slightly parted, but by no means in a smile, seemed to have lost most of their colour and Rose was not surprised to note that one of the IV drip bottles contained blood.

Her eyes followed the line of his body under the lightweight covers: he was as slender as ever, except for around the lower abdomen where heavy bandaging added bulk. Bruises and abrasions marred his finely haired torso and disfigured the delicately boned cheeks, sprinkled now with stubble. It was sickeningly obvious that he hadn't been treated gently.

Cautiously, she touched his hair, finding it hard in places with dried blood—whereas, in her memory, it was soft and silky against her face, her breasts, her thighs...She wrenched herself back to the present and concentrated on the slow rhythm of his breathing. Suddenly, an alarm went off and Tessa hurried through to check on him: "Its OK Rosie, he's just starting to come to. He'll be awake soon."

Rose watched her head back to Vince's office. Soon. Soon he'd be awake. Soon, she could leave.

Malcolm swam slowly upwards through the murky depths of anaesthesia. He'd been hearing humming and beeping sounds for a while now, but couldn't quite place what was making them, and they faded in and out of his awareness as he wakened. There was someone nearby, he thought, but they moved so quietly that he wasn't sure if he was imagining things and, for some reason, he was having trouble getting his eyes open in order to check. At first, he wondered why he was so exhausted—but now obscure memories were gradually trickling back, and he felt his heart rate increase as a vague but menacing dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

  * He'd been in a forest—he didn't know why—and there had been an animal of some sort...he just couldn't quite recall... 



Behind him, an alarm went off and chimed loudly and insistently. There were swift, approaching footsteps, then he felt a cool hand on his forehead, stroking back his hair; "Its alright, lovey. You're safe now. You can wake up if you want." The voice was warm and female, with a not-quite-British accent, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he didn't want to wake up—for it would mean facing whatever was scaring him so badly.

The hand left his forehead, the footsteps retreated, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to wish himself back to sleep. Finally, he forced his eyes open to find a different woman sitting, rigidly, beside his bed. She was uneasily looking back over her shoulder, towards an open door beyond which people were moving about and talking. When she turned to face him, a startled exclamation was forced through his dry lips

"Rose?"

For a long moment, she stared at him then he heard the soft, Irish brogue he thought he'd never hear again. "Hello, Malcolm. Its alright—don't be afraid. You're in the clinic of Base Camp at my excavation on Valdor V. I found you, injured, in the forest."

Vision still hazy, he blinked rapidly, struggling to focus on her, and she leapt at the chance to escape. "You're tired—I should let your rest. Don't worry, Malcolm, you're safe now. Vince is an excellent doctor and will take good care of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Feel better soon."

With that, she fled and Malcolm stared after her retreating form, not even sure if she was real. As the door closed, a fatherly looking, silver-haired man frowned after her then ambled over to the bed, carrying a rather antiquated scanner.

"Hello son. I'm Vince Petrie, the excavation doctor. How're you doing?"

A veritable tidal wave of fear crashed over Malcolm and he struggled to order his frenzied thoughts and say something sensible: "Feel sick."

Vince nodded sympathetically "I'll bet—after all, you've just had major surgery. Let's see what we can do to make you more comfortable, then you can get back to sleep." He produced a hypospray—and Malcolm tried to jerk away, terror-stricken. The doctor frowned at the readouts on the display screen: "Easy, son. Its just an anti- emetic—to stop the queasiness."

Frantically searching for some inner reservoir of calm, Malcolm watched him anxiously, partial memories leaking out again even as he tried to contain them.

  * Someone had injected him with something... 



Pressing the instrument to his patient's neck the doctor patted his hand reassuringly, but he froze at the touch: "I know, son. But its alright now. You're safe here with us."

Malcolm felt his eyes mist and his throat constrict. A sob fought its way out then all his control was gone and he retched violently. Fortunately, the doctor was faster and had a disposable bowl under his chin before he vomited, moaning at the pain caused by his spasming abdominal muscles. "Its OK, Malcolm. You're just reacting to the anaesthetic. The medicine will start working soon."

After helping him to rinse his mouth out, Vince gently eased his patient back onto his pillows "Try to relax, son. I'll adjust the IV to give you more pain relief then you should try to have another nap. You're doing fine, but you'll feel better if you sleep for another few hours."

Malcolm watched warily as the doctor fiddled with the pump mechanism on the IV stand then came back to sit beside him. "There we are. Now, close your eyes and don't worry. Nobody here's going to harm you and we'll do everything we can to help you get well again."

The man reached out and began gently and repeatedly smoothing Malcolm's hair back from his face. At first, he stiffened at the contact—but the motion was soothing, the doctor's demeanour relaxed and, gradually, exhaustion took over. At the end of his physical and emotional resources, Malcolm felt himself spiralling back down into a deep and dreamless slumber.

Back in her quarters, Rose was struggling to relax. On their way to the clinic, Vince had told her—in no uncertain terms -what he thought of her decision to abandon Malcolm, and his words still echoed in her mind. They were, however, determinedly ignored. Stabbing angrily at her computer's power button, she started working on her lectures for the tour she'd undertake the moment off-world travel was again possible. It was a long-anticipated venture and an opportunity to raise awareness of her work here—perhaps winning some influential sponsors. She didn't intend to pass it up for anything.

Or anyone.

Moments later, the screen in front of her remaining infuriatingly blank and her pride still smarting from Vince's telling-off, she rose from her desk and began to pace. Her window looked out towards the clinic and she could see the glow of the lights still burning in the Recovery Room. Irritably, she closed her blinds.

It really wasn't her problem.

Flouncing back to the computer, she switched over to her communications screen and was greeted by the crackle of static. Cursing, she prepared a text-only message and sent it to Starfleet: there was no telling when it would get through the storm's interference, but it stood a much better chance than an audio visual communication—and that would have to suffice.

When it came to getting Malcolm Reed back to the bosom of his shipmates, Rose O'Leary was in one hell of a hurry.

Around 10 o'clock the following morning, his mouth dry and every part of his body aching, Malcolm wakened to the sound of a woman's, rather off-key, singing and the smell of antiseptic. Involuntarily, he groaned and the singing abruptly stopped.

Finally persuading his eyes to open, he started as he found himself almost face-to-face with the woman in question. In her sensible, comfortable, nurses' shoes, she had moved so quietly that he hadn't heard her approach, and her proximity immediately made him uncomfortable. Seeming to read his thoughts, she smiled and straightened up: "I'm sorry Malcolm. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Vince's wife, Tessa. He's having a lie-in today and asked me to keep an eye on you." Malcolm winced, fairly sure that the man had been up all night caring for him.

The nurse's gaze took in his rather glassy stare, then the readings on the monitors behind the bed, before returning to her patient. "How are you feeling today?"

There was real compassion in her voice and Malcolm was suddenly disposed to confide in her: "Hurts."

Tessa nodded: "The anaesthetic's effect from last night's almost gone now, so we'll have to compensate with a little more analgesic." She briskly adjusted the IV pump then favoured him with a warm smile. "There. That should do it. Now, I was just about to tidy you up a little. Are you OK with that? "

Malcolm really didn't know if it was OK or not—his thoughts and feelings were still scrambled and dulled by the drugs flowing into his veins—but he nodded, albeit a little doubtfully, and hoped it was the correct response. Tessa smiled sympathetically: "Poor lamb. I'll be gentle and quick, I promise."

She was as good as her word and soon Malcolm was clean and dressed in a fresh medical gown, newly-plumped pillows propping him up a little and letting him see what was going on. She'd shaved him, washed and combed his hair, then inspected his wounds and changed his dressings, re-adjusting the drains and drips as necessary. He felt a little more awake now, and the increased analgesic had all but eradicated the pain.

If only he could stop feeling so frightened.

Tessa came back again and brushed his teeth, making sure he didn't swallow any water, before pulling over a chair and sitting beside his bed. "So, Malcolm, how do you feel about telling me what a nice guy like you's doing in a place like this? We know where we found you, and in what condition, but how did you get there?"

The panic, when it came, made Malcolm blink in surprise. Suddenly, his heart was thundering and he was beginning to shake and sweat, a jumble of half-memories flooding his brain. As he fought to suppress them, he began to struggle for breath and the terror became all- consuming. He was aware of Tessa's worried frown, heard shouting in the background, then everything went dark.

Early morning was normally Rose's favourite part of the day. Her work motivated her like nothing else could and she'd hurry from her cabin to the ruins, ready for more discoveries, more knowledge and more excitement. Today, however, was different. She took a less direct route, to avoid passing the clinic, and, instead of her usual cheerful, teasing greetings to her team, already hard at work digging, studying and cataloguing, she heard herself give a sullen and distracted "Morning".

JJ was at her side within seconds, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an over-excitable child and wanting to know what had become of the bedraggled creature they'd carried back from the forest the previous night. Rose sighed: "Vince has him on the mend. He'll be fine."

The young man frowned, dissatisfied: "Sure—but what about the rest? How'd you get to know him. Why is he here?" He leered at her and waggled his eyebrows "Are you—uh—long-lost lovers?"

It took all her self-control not to slap him! "I appreciated your help last night, JJ, but that doesn't buy you a ticket to my private life. We were friends; we lost touch; I don't know how or why he got here. That's it. Like we agreed last night, respect his privacy and everything will turn out OK."

Throughout the rest of the day, she was aware of curious stares from her co-workers—knowing full well her uncharacteristic ill humour was making them uneasy. JJ was sulking too and the rumour mill was working overtime but, try as she might, she couldn't find her usual, easy manner.

After dinner, she took Monty out for his walk and ran straight into Vince, making his way to the clinic. He tossed her a casual greeting "Hey Rosie, how's it going?"

She tried to hurry on by with a throwaway "Fine thanks" but he sidestepped to block her path.

"Aren't you even going to ask how he's doing?"

Monty had turned traitor and engaged the doctor in a ball-throwing game, so she found herself trapped and forced to answer. "Umm, so Vince, How's he doing?"

Vince bowled the ball over-arm and the dog bounded after it "Not so good. Poor guy's scared to death if a bloke comes near him but can't seem to remember why. He can just about tolerate me being around—but he's been taking panic-attacks. Tessa's had to sit with him most of the day, helping him to learn to control them. Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

A soggy, misshapen tennis ball was dropped at the doctor's feet but Rose moved like lightening to pick it up before he could get to it: "Sorry Vince, got a heavy workload tonight. Maybe another time."

Turning on her heel, she strode away briskly, calling Monty after her, while Vince, shaking his head, continued to the clinic.

It was, she told herself, all for the best.

"Okay, lovey, that's it. Hold onto my arm. Good boy. Now let's try a few steps. Well done!"

Hanging on tightly to Tessa, his teeth clenched against the pain of moving, Malcolm valiantly shuffled across the room to the open door and the armchair, placed specially for him, in the shade of the clinic. It was only three days since he'd been brought to Base Camp, but Tessa was adamant that he was ready to be out of bed and wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

Finally arriving at the chair, he eased himself down on the soft cushions and sighed with relief. His nurse grinned "Told you you'd make it. You don't have to stay up long—just a little while every day will help you get back to normal. Now, you sit quietly and watch the world go by while I change your sheets. Vince'll be here shortly and he'll help you to have a bath then you can get back to bed. I know you don't like it, but I have to be cruel to be kind. It'll help your wound to heal and you'll feel better in the long run."

When he was alone again, Malcolm put his head back and closed his eyes. Tessa had certainly been very kind—as had Vince. They'd taken turns to be with him 24 hours a day and had helped him through numerous crises: if only they would stop asking him questions. He really didn't know what had happened to him and the partial memories, which bobbed, unbidden, to the surface of his mind, were disjointed and confusing. All he knew for sure was that they made him helpless with a terror that he could barely control.

Some time later, he was disturbed by the sound of a dog barking excitedly and he looked up to see a familiar form in the distance, accompanied by what looked like a cross between a German Shepherd and a Shetland pony. He felt his mouth go dry: Rose!

Only a couple of inches shorter than Malcolm, she was slim and long- legged, with auburn hair that usually tumbled onto her shoulders in a profusion of curls and ringlets. Today, though, that hair was imprisoned in a secure braid that ran from the crown of her head, taking in tresses from the sides as it went. Fair skinned and freckled, with eyes which seemed to alternate between being hazel and green, she was throwing a stick for the excited dog, laughing as it came skidding back, time and again, to present her with the mangled piece of wood.

Although Malcolm sat in the shade, she was in full sun and he squinted as she approached, longing to see her more clearly. Tessa had told him Rose was in charge of the excavation, but that work took up most of her time. He'd accepted the explanation, but still harboured a hope that she'd find a moment to visit him, and now, it seemed she was heading his way.

Trembling with weakness, he pushed himself painfully to his feet, carefully watching where the various tubes to which he was still attached were located—lest he should inadvertently yank one free. At last, he was relatively stable and with a supreme effort, straightened up—in time to see her look straight at him, dismay on her lovely face, then turn and head towards another building entirely.

Disbelief warred with disappointment as he awkwardly eased himself back onto the cushions and stared after her. He felt betrayed, and was surprised to note that the sensation was oddly familiar. A strong hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked up to see the doctor frowning at him. "I saw her too son. Try not to fret yourself. Tess and I may not be as pretty, but we're still your friends and you can count on us to look after you."

Embarrassed, he managed a tremulous smile "Thank you. I...I just thought..."

Vince grinned: "Thinking's a failing we men have, when it comes to women. And they always do the exact opposite of whatever we think!" Soft footsteps could be heard coming from the clinic and the doctor winked and raised his voice slightly: "Personally, I put my brain into cold storage when I got married. I've found its easier that way."

Tessa arrived to stand beside them and cuffed her husband playfully. "What are you saying about me Dr Petrie? I hope you aren't leading Malcolm astray."

The doctor smiled and gave her a squeeze "Would I do such a thing, my darling? Now, lets get this young 'un back to bed. His bath can wait—he's looking a bit peaky right now."

Together, they hoisted Malcolm between them and helped him make the journey back inside. Exhaustion was catching up with him already and, even before Tessa was finished tucking the covers around him, he was drifting off to sleep.

Just over a week later, Malcolm was well enough to be up and walking, unaided, around the clinic. Leaning on Vince or Tessa, he could even manage the short stroll, undertaken at a snail's pace, to the edge of the excavation site, peering over at the concentrated activity of the archaeologists. He'd declined to be introduced to them, finding himself embarrassingly frightened of strangers, particularly men, and tried to engineer his walks to always fall when they were too busy working to come near him.

Of necessity, a lot of his time was spent resting. He knew the doctor well enough now to feel fairly comfortable with him and, to stave off boredom, Vince stayed and chatted and brought him padds full of information about Novos' history and the progress of the excavation. It was interesting to see the foundations of the temple being uncovered and to marvel at computer projections of the size and scope of the edifice, and the simulations of how it must have looked when in daily use.

Vast larders had been discovered, deep under the ground and reached by mind-boggling numbers of steps. It was believed that meat and dairy produce had remained fresh down there for years, so cold were the cellars. Malcolm's mind, however, could not remain on such marvels for long and kept springing back to worrying about the, still illusive, more recent past.

And, despite his best efforts to forget her, his heart still ached for Rose.

Monty was whining at her front door when Rose returned from the dig that evening. The weather was fine, the sun still high, and the overgrown pup was in the mood to play. Sighing, she smiled fondly at the comical animal with his enormous, lopsided, ears, huge floppy paws and laughing, slightly stupid, expression. "Monty, you are such a sweetheart but I can't take you out for long. I have to get packed for tomorrow." She poured some dogfood into his bowl "Here, have a bite to eat and let me do the same—then we'll talk."

Just as she finished washing her dishes, a sharp rap at the door made her jump. She opened it to find Vince standing there, and she was almost bowled over as Monty charged out to greet him. He fussed over the dog then smiled wryly at her: "I hear the ion storm's cleared up and you're off on your lecture tour tomorrow. You must be excited."

Irked by his timing, and suspecting his motives, she invited him in rather coolly: "Yes, it's a superb opportunity: but, since you clearly don't approve, I'm sure you're not here to discuss it with me."

Flopping down on her couch, he stretched and put his feet up on the battered coffee table in front of it. "Rosie girl, you're so sharp you're gonna cut yourself some day. Okay, let's get to the point. I want you to show Mr Reed round the excavation site this evening—chances are he'll be gone when you get back. You'll never need to set eyes on him again, so where's the harm in giving him a little of your time this evening and making him happy? He's been hoping to see you since he discovered you were here—and I know damn well you've been avoiding him at every turn. How about it? Maybe it'll provide a little closure for both of you."

Rose bristled: "I don't need closure, Vince, and neither does he. We closed everything that needed closing when we said goodbye in Mexico."

The doctor shrugged: "If you say so. Still, you know him better than anyone else here—and he knows you. All I can discover is that his ship's the Enterprise, that he's Chief Armoury Officer there and that he doesn't have any next of kin or—what's the term?- ah, "significant other" who should be notified of his whereabouts. When I told him you'd sent a message to Starfleet and they'd probably respond once the ion storm passed, he went awfully quiet. I'd kinda like to know what that's all about.

"Anyway, I'm hoping that, if you spend a little time together, he'll open up a bit and tell you how he got hurt. With Tess and me, he either doesn't, or won't, remember and can't answer any of our questions, but you might be able to winkle it out of him. Whoever's responsible for his injuries deserves to be punished and I mean to see it happen."

Rose nodded reluctantly: "Okay, I'll talk to him—and if it'll stop you bugging me, I'll give him the grand tour—but that's it, Vince. No more."

Grinning widely, the doctor stood "That's all I'm asking, Rosie. Anything else is up to you and Malcolm. By the way, he HAS been telling me about YOU, you know—even the story about the tattoo and the jewellery. Where is it, by the way? You normally wear it every day."

Ignoring his question, Rose opened the door "I'll collect him in half an hour. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and take Monty for his walk at the same time, then maybe I can get some packing done."

Vince was already on his way back to the clinic and waved at her over his shoulder "He'll be ready. See you later."

Tessa Petrie had spent a large part of her married life arguing with her husband. Their disagreements were never serious, and were usually over quickly, but they nearly always ended with her wondering why he had to be such an impulsive bastard. She was wondering again tonight.

He'd arrived back at the clinic about 20 minutes ago to announce that he'd arranged for Rose O'Leary to show his current patient, one Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, around the excavation of which she was Director. Unfortunately, said patient had no clothes whatsoever, except for the hospital slippers, bathrobe and thin, one-size, pyjamas Vince had given him for his short walks from the clinic. The Petrie residence was now in chaos while she ransacked the couple's wardrobe to find something warmer, and more appropriate, to fit him.

Malcolm was slightly built and, at present, a little on the scrawny side. Vince, by contrast, was a brawny six-footer, so, at the moment, the beleaguered Starfleet officer was being dressed in Tessa's clothes: jeans and a loose-fitting corduroy blouse in a fetching shade of lilac. Although his patient looked a little doubtful, Vince smiled approvingly "That's great, son. If Tess rolls the sleeves up a bit nobody'll guess they're too short—and just leave the collar open, will you, and it won't look so tight. Stuff some paper towel into those new sneakers of mine, Tess, and they'll fit him like a glove."

Glowering, Tessa did as he asked, cursed her husband under her breath, then stood back to appraise her handiwork. "Take a look in the mirror, Malcolm. It isn't as bad as you think. The colour's not too girly and it really shows up your pretty eyes."

Nervously, Malcolm glanced at the mirror and shuddered. He'd always been critical of his appearance but, since his assault, he'd felt deeply unattractive and irredeemably soiled. His reflection—a waif in women's clothing—did nothing to convince him of his desirability and he wondered, miserably, what Rose would see when she looked at him.

Over the years of their separation, he'd chastised himself repeatedly for still harbouring feelings for her—but she was the only woman he'd ever felt a connection with and, despite trying to forget her, he'd found himself entering subsequent relationships already knowing they would never fill the aching void she'd left in his life. Her avoidance of him, here at Novos, had shaken him and he'd been dismayed to hear of Vince's arrangement for this evening. Deep down, however, a tiny flame of hope was burning and urging him to take a chance...

The doorbell to the Petries' flat chimed and he was jolted out of his reverie. It was too late for second thoughts.

As Vince showed Rose into the room, Malcolm's heart sank and he wanted to cry. She was every bit as lovely as when he'd first encountered her in the Mexican travel terminal but, when she looked at him, the old warmth and friendliness was gone from her eyes. She put out her hand and shook his as if they'd never been more than casual acquaintances. Her voice was polite but remote: "Hello Malcolm. I'm glad you're recovering so well. If you're ready, we should be going. I have an early start in the morning."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tessa wince—but there was no turning back now. He dredged up a quivering smile and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Apparently ignorant of the tension in the room, and beaming like a proud father seeing his daughter off to the high school prom, Vince stepped forward and opened the door. "Take Rose's arm, Malcolm. You're walking quite a distance tonight and you're still a little unsteady on your pins."

Blushing, and feeling like an encumbrance, Malcolm reluctantly did as he was told, shooting Rose an apologetic glance, but Vince wasn't finished making mischief yet: "Rosie, we couldn't find any underwear to fit him, so make sure you have him home before it turns chilly."

Tessa's horrified gasp was the last thing Malcolm heard as, his blush deepening, they headed out into the evening sunshine.


	3. Chapter 3

Monty was allowed off his leash until they entered the actual excavation site and he gleefully lolloped ahead as Rose and Malcolm made their slow progress towards the roped-off sections of the ruins.

While they walked, Rose pointed out the various buildings in the camp and found herself warming to her subject "We have laboratories, where we can clean up our finds and analyse their composition, or identify the contents of old crockery and such like. And there are stores where artefacts can be kept in controlled temperature and humidity until they can be moved—we send them for further investigation and display, to museums throughout Valdor V.

"Although this planet has a tremendous history, its people haven't really majored on studying and preserving it, so they're happy to give us enormous freedom with their past, in exchange for using and learning from our expertise. We're finding out a great deal about the ancient Valdorians—especially that some of their ways are still very much alive.

"Actually, and you'll find this especially interesting, we were surprised to learn that the temple had its own armoury and we found recognisable fragments of weapons there. It appears that their favourite was a rather vicious-looking crossbow and, amazingly enough, its still in use today. They're small, lightweight, easy to obtain, quiet to shoot and farmers favour them for hunting and to control vermin. The government's own guards use them as a ceremonial weapon and almost every Valdorian home has one somewhere that's been handed down from father to son since God only knows when! Even sportsmen use them: mountaineers shoot pitons for their climbing ropes into rock faces with them. Its fascinating!"

Malcolm thought so too—but mainly because, while she was lost in her enthusiasm, the distance between them seemed to have closed to almost nothing and he was getting tantalizing glimpses of the Rose he met so long ago.

The ruins themselves were alternately majestic and surprisingly insignificant. Careful not to let him stand too close to the edge of the seemingly bottomless larder pit, Rose showed him the endless stairways going down to the subterranean storerooms. "These guys knew a bit about refrigeration, Malcolm! We found...what was that?"

Whirling, she scanned their surroundings for the source of the strange, metallic squealing noise she'd heard. Malcolm blinked at her, confused. "I didn't hear anything. Won't it be one of your team working late?"

Monty was staring over towards one of the more complete structures, his enormous ears pricked and listening. "No. We have a rule that nobody works after 5pm. I'm the only one allowed on-site after that time. Tired archaeologists make mistakes and precious things get broken."

There was an odd whistling sound and, suddenly, a cloud of dust exploded from the ruined wall only a few feet behind them. Straining forward, Monty yanked his leash from Rose's hand and ran towards it, barking loudly. She hurried after him, letting Malcolm follow at his own pace, and searched around the rubble at the wall's base, homing in on where Monty was avidly sniffing. "What's that boy? What have you got? Let me see, huh?"

Scrabbling in the dust, she came up with a metal object and showed it to Malcolm as he arrived beside her: "Hey! It's a crossbow bolt—but it's a modern one. How the hell did that get here?"

The male voice which answered wasn't Malcolm's, and was almost drowned out by Monty's rumbling growl. "Turn around, Ma'am, and you'll find out."

At his words, Monty started barking in earnest and Rose grabbed his collar, trying to restrain and calm him. She thought the owner of the voice was one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen, but the traditional crossbow he held, quite clearly aimed at Malcolm's chest, quickly captured her full attention. He grinned at her: "You were right about the crossbow. I've been staying in Parros for a while now and I had no trouble at all in buying one. I've been using it for hunting and I've become a really good shot. It's a lovely weapon."

Malcolm's gasp of recognition was almost lost beneath Monty's barking: "Archer." He shot a worried glance at Rose "Get away, Rose. Run." Stubborn, as always, he remained, transfixed, at his side and he turned back, exasperated, to Archer. The man laughed, then smiled in a predatory fashion: "Talking of hunting, what an unexpected pleasure it is to see you again, Lieutenant. It seems my Valdorian friends were a little slipshod in your disposal. Fortunately, Trip learned of the message your delightful friend here sent to Starfleet and passed the news to me. So...here I am to finish the job."

"I've been watching for an opportunity to get to you since Trip warned me. He's afraid you'll ruin his career but, as I told you before, he's mine—and I protect my own. An Enterprise shuttle pod will be sent down for you tomorrow, but it'll come too late." He raised the weapon a little higher and lined up the sights, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Goodbye, Malcolm. Its been...fun."

Rose reacted instantly: "Monty, seize!" Letting go of the dog's collar, she lunged to her right—knocking Malcolm sideways to the ground. As she lost her own balance, there was a tremendous jolt of pain in her head and the world, almost immediately, turned black. "Hello, sweetheart, can you hear me? Come on, lovey. Time to wake up. Tell me your name. What's your name?"

The woman's voice seemed uncommonly loud and Rose's head was already pounding. She grunted and opened her eyes "Tessa, will you shut the fuck up? I'm Rose O'Leary and you're getting on my nerves."

Her vision was swimming as she squinted up at the face, worriedly gazing at her, and remembered what had happened. "Oh my God! Malcolm! Is he..."?

Tessa raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Your thick skull saved his life. The crossbow bolt creased the side of your forehead and missed him completely—but you bled so much that I think you scared him half to death. Fortunately, JJ had spotted you two out together and got a group of the young 'uns together to spy on you and do some heckling. They arrived at the ruins in time to see the whole performance and ran for help."

Rose shrugged off Tessa's fussing and sat up slowly, her head spinning "Is Monty OK? And Archer—the bad guy—what happened to him?"

Adjusting the dressing on Rose's forehead, Tessa smiled a little ruefully. "Monty's enjoying being a hero—JJ's feeding him doggie treats by the barrow load—but...well, Mr Archer won't be hurting anyone any more. He tried to back away when Monty charged at him and he fell into the larder pit. Vince reckons he died instantly. The authorities are on their way and I guess you and Malcolm will have to talk to them in the morning, if he's able."

Her heart suddenly seeming to stall, Rose turned and scowled at the nurse: "If he's able?"

"Rosie, he seems to be in shock. By the time we got to the site it was all over and Malcolm was hysterical and holding on to you as if you were his lifeline. Vince had to sedate him: he's in the Recovery Room with him now."

Without hesitation, Rose slid off the treatment table: "I want to see him."

Tessa grinned and offered her a steadying hand "I hoped you would. Come on."

Vince looked up as they entered, but Rose's full attention was on Malcolm, sitting rigidly on the edge of his bed. His arms were wrapped tightly around his body and he constantly rocked back and forth, occasionally fingering her bloodstains on his lilac shirt before resuming the agitated movement. His eyes were desolate, his terribly pale face still smudged with the russet-coloured dust from the excavation site, and one cheek bore a fresh graze—as a result, she supposed, of his unexpected fall when she'd thrown herself against him.

Ignoring her thundering headache, she stepped over and sat beside him. "Malcolm? Malcolm, please look at me."

There was no response, the rhythm of his rocking remaining unbroken, so, very gently, she caressed his cheek then took hold of his chin and turned his face towards her. Reluctantly, his dull gaze crept up to her face and, quite suddenly, a myriad of emotions flitted through his expressive, mist-grey eyes. Then Rose saw those tragic eyes grow moist, his lips trembled and twitched downwards and, instinctively, she reached for him: "Oh, Malcolm, I'm so sorry..."

The trickling of fragmented memories over the recent days had become a torrent when Archer reappeared—and now, even as he fought against it, the whole, terrifying jigsaw was fitting together in Malcolm's mind. He remembered the hotel; the peculiar com conversation with Trip; the hypospray; the helplessness; the terrifying realisation that Archer was there—free—when he was supposed to be incarcerated in a secure penal unit.

Most of all, though, he remembered the agony: the endless, tearing, burning agony.

Unable to face the reality of what had occurred, he'd unwittingly slammed a mental shutter down on the recollections, locked it in place and thrown away the key. He'd parried Vince and Tessa's questions and recoiled from every remembrance of his ordeal—but, tonight, his defences had been breached there was nowhere to run. His sordid past had come back to haunt him, and had almost meant the death of the woman he now knew that he loved, and always had done.

When she'd made him look at her—the dressing on her brow proclaiming her valour, the worry in her eyes, and the tenderness of her touch, betraying the feelings he'd feared she no longer had for him—it was his undoing. The floodgates opened, he was powerless to resist, and he sank into her outstretched arms, clinging to her for dear life, and wept.

Despite her behaviour since Malcolm had been found and brought to Base Camp, Rose was, essentially, neither hard-hearted nor selfish and having him sobbing in her embrace set her own tears flowing. Even while they were apart, he had still been a feature of her life and none of her many boyfriends—much has she'd enjoyed them—had ever been able to erase him from her memory. She'd foolishly tried to do that herself when he'd arrived at Novos.

Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair, twining it around them and making soothing patterns on his scalp. He nuzzled a little closer to her and seemed to be calming slightly, so she continued the movement and began to rock him a little. Another few moments passed then he yawned. She glanced up at Vince, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question, and he smiled "Sedative takes a little while to reach its full potency. I think we can put him to bed now."

Although the doctor was almost whispering, Malcolm gave a little gasp of anxiety, and tightened his grip on Rose. She squeezed him back. "Its okay, Malcolm. I'm not letting you go. But I do think we both need to rest. Will you come to my cabin with me and try to sleep for a while?"

She could almost feel Tessa's smile on the back of her head: "Oh, that's a good idea, Vince, isn't it? You can help Malcolm to walk, if he's a little woozy, and I'll give Rosie a hand."

For a couple of seconds, Vince looked doubtful—then he grinned. "Who am I to think I'm the only healer around here? Sure. Let's go. I think that might just be the prescription Malcolm needs."

Leaving Monty in JJ's capable hands, the four of them made their rather unsteady way to Rose's cabin, where Vince and Tessa left the younger couple to themselves.

Malcolm was barely awake when she stripped him of his clothes and changed him into the pyjamas Tessa had brought for him. By the time she'd finished pulling the covers around him, he was asleep and she shrugged out of her own clothes then slid into bed beside him in her camisole and panties. Before putting out the light, she swept his hair back from his face and kissed him softly on the forehead "Rest well, my brave Lieutenant. I'll be right here if you need me—for as long as you want me."

Even though he was asleep, she could have sworn he smiled.

Valdor V was rightly proud of its criminal justice system: the Valdorian police duly arrived next day and were thorough in their enquiries. JJ and his cohorts were interviewed first, followed by Vince and Tessa then, finally, allowing plenty of time for the sedative to work its way out of his system, Malcolm and Rose. The officers concerned were polite and efficient, considerate of Rose's injury and Malcolm's delicate emotional state but the questioning distressed him terribly and, to his mortification, he frequently lapsed into uncontrollable tears.

At last, the police left—taking Archer's body with them and intending to continue their investigation by locating and questioning Commander Charles Tucker III. Rose had been devastated to hear the extent of Malcolm's abuse at the hands of Archer and his various accomplices. Only the realisation that, without any doubts or regrets, she'd been willing to die for him assuaged her guilt at having so determinedly pushed him away, in favour of her career.

Malcolm was still desperately upset but declined a further dose of sedation, determined now to try to face up to the past and work through his feelings. Rose was his constant companion, cancelling her speaking tour and handing over most of the site supervision to her deputy, retaining only the aspects of the work that could be attended to from her cabin. They slept together platonically, Malcolm needing her comforting closeness but too unwell to engage in any amorous activity. His sleep pattern was erratic, his appetite poor and his anxiety overwhelming at times—but she patiently weathered the storms with him, nursing him back to some semblance of normality.

Eight days after Archer's demise, Rose woke one morning and found Malcolm perched on the edge of the bed—arms folded defensively round himself, in a posture which made her immediately concerned. Hearing her stirring, he turned and smiled sadly at her: "I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Rose. You were right to keep me at arm's length. I'm too dangerous: I've interfered with your career and almost cost you your life. Can you forgive me?"

Perturbed, she got up and moved to stand directly in front of him, gazing down into the depths of his haunted eyes. "Only if you'll forgive me for abandoning you when you needed me most. I love you Malcolm, and I can honestly say I loved you in Mexico and never stopped loving you. It just took me a little while to get my head out of my arse and admit it to myself."

Rose had thought she'd never see Malcolm smile again, but the dazzling grin that now lit up his tired face was worth everything they'd been through. It made her want to kiss him—so she did, and overbalanced, tumbling onto the bed beside him as he flopped backwards, pretending to swoon. Laughing, Rose hugged him close: "I think I'm falling for you all over again, Mr Reed!"

Malcolm untangled himself, pushed her hair back and impulsively kissed her. "Likewise, Ms O'Leary." He was gazing up into her eyes and, suddenly, she was aware of desire shining in his. An answering spark of arousal made her catch her breath and hold it as, hesitantly, he let his hands slide onto her shoulders and ease down the straps of the nightdress she was wearing. "Hmm, I don't remember you having freckles there!" Her heart rate ratcheted upwards and she wriggled free of the straps, pushing the garment down to her waist, before sliding her hands under his pyjama top and letting her hands roam freely over his chest and stomach. He was tugging the nightdress further down now, breathing hard and gazing at her hungrily. She moaned, happily enjoying his attention as his hands wandered and he renewed his acquaintance with her body. Standing between his legs, she leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, before she untied his pyjama bottoms and began to ease them down over his hips.

Suddenly, his light heartedness gone, he sat up, pulling his clothes around him again, his eyes wild and frightened. Rose was thrown to one side and stumbled to her feet, dazed: "Malcolm! What happened?"

He was shaking uncontrollably, his passion of moments before completely vanished: "No! Don't...don't touch me. Please! I...I c.can't..."

Her stomach churning, she cautiously stretched out a hand and let it ghost down his arm until she could wrap her fingers around his own. "Malcolm, I have to. I can't leave you like this. Tell me what you're feeling."

To her relief, he clasped her fingers in return "They...undressed me..."

Rose squeezed his hand "I know."

"I couldn't...couldn't move...couldn't fight..."

Carefully, she stepped closer and stroked his face, feeling the muscles in his jaw tense. "Malcolm, I love you. I won't ever hurt you—or let anyone else hurt you. You don't need to be afraid."

"It...it won't...won't go away. I thought..."

Shivering, he let her pull him against her. "I'm sorry...I want you so much, but...but..."

Stroking his hair, she whispered reassurance "Hush. Its not your fault. I shouldn't have rushed you like I did. Let's just lie here and relax for a while. We'll get through this, Malcolm. And remember, I really do love you—just as you are."

Starfleet decided to leave Malcolm where he was to recuperate, until the enquiry into Archer and Tucker's crimes was complete. However, his continuing inability to deal with the memories of his abuse by the Valdorians started to take its toll. He began to be plagued by vivid nightmares, which haunted him well into the following day, his self-esteem plummeted and he grew irritable and contentious. Seriously worried, Rose conferred with Vince and decided on drastic action.

"I can't watch you suffering any longer, Malcolm: I know you can beat this. There's no way I'm going to let that bastard Archer go on destroying you, piece by piece. We both know what you still need to deal with and we're going to do it today, together, before you lose any more ground."

Afraid to risk any possible sexual contact, Malcolm had taken to sleeping—or, rather not sleeping—on the couch and he sat there now, in his pyjamas, disturbed and defensive. Rose kneeled in front of him, holding his hands and gently stroking his knuckles with her thumbs. "Malcolm, I know this sounds cruel, but I believe it's the only way forward. With the cooperation of the Valdorian police, I've arranged for us to have a few days in your hotel room in Parros. There are ghosts you need to exorcise and I have to make you face them. A shuttle's going to pick us up in an hour's time, so get dressed."

To her horror, he fell to his knees in front of her, begging—grasping her hands so tightly that it hurt: "No! No, Rose I can't. Please don't do this to me."

The terror in his eyes almost broke her resolve but she steeled herself and stood firm. "Malcolm, you have to acknowledge what really happened to you and move on, instead of burying the memory then running away from it every time something brings it to the surface. If I could do it for you, and take away the pain, I would. But the best I can do is make you face it and be right there with you—so that's where I'll be. No matter what. If we confront this together, maybe we can turn the negatives into positives and get on with life."

They travelled in silence, Malcolm painfully tense and afraid. They checked into their hotel and, as arranged, were allocated the same room in which Malcolm had been so savagely assaulted. It had been cleaned and put to rights but, as Rose opened the door; she felt his grip on her hand grow suddenly tighter. She slid an arm round his waist and stood with him on the threshold, waiting until his agitated breathing steadied, then drew him forward and let the door lock behind them.

His eyes were huge and frightened as he took in the familiar surroundings. Still clinging to her hand, he walked to the window and fingered the com-panel then, turning, he glanced at the door, the bed—now neatly made—and finally at the floor, where the ghosts of bloodstains were still visible, if one knew where to look, among the pattern of the carpet.

Rose hesitated, reluctant to resurrect his ordeal, then said what she knew she had to say: "I heard you tell the Valdorian police the bare bones of what happened, but now I want you to remember it all and show me, act it out right here, in detail."

Swallowing his fear, Malcolm let go of her hand, went back to the balcony doors and opened them. "I was...was admiring the view when Trip...Trip called me and..."

His voice broke and Rose had to force herself not to go to him. "He...he joked about me unpacking, then...then he told me it didn't matter because I wouldn't need the clothes anymore anyway." His fingers trailed over the com-panel again and he grimaced as the emotional pain washed over him: "I didn't understand, especially when he closed the com-channel, and then...then I felt the hypospray."

Rose had quietly moved behind him and he jumped when she lightly touched the side of his neck, further refreshing the memory: "Here?"

He nodded and she gently kissed the spot, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Go on."

Malcolm dropped to his knees then lay on the floor, his gaze on the ceiling, remembering: "My legs just gave way and I couldn't move...couldn't see properly. Someone..." His lips quivered and he bit back a sob "Someone took off my clothes and...and..." He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, fighting for control.

Rose knelt beside him and caressed his face, shushing him quietly until he collected himself, then, slowly and gently, began to unbutton his shirt and slide it off his shoulders. Listening to the anxious hitching of his breath, and feeling his muscles tense under her touch, she began to massage his upper arms and plant kisses on his throat and chest before moving down to kiss the scars from his recent surgery, letting her tongue swirl around in his navel until he gasped at the sensation. She went on to remove his shoes, socks, pants and shorts, showering each part of his body—except for his genitals—with attention as it became exposed. "They undressed you, and...?"

His hands balled into fists and he again became rigid with fear: "Archer...touched me. Like he...he owned me. Like it didn't matter how I felt about it." There was an undercurrent of anger mixed with the sorrow in his trembling voice and Rose struggled to contain her own fury. She began to explore his body more intimately, with thistledown-light touches, dropping kisses here and there as she went. Slowly, she felt the tightness of his flesh begin to relax a little as she kept her caresses soft and caring: "He didn't love you—but I do. I want you to feel pleasure, not pain, and I don't want to own you and control you: I want us to love and belong to each other."

As she spoke, quietly and soothingly, watching him respond to her hands, she guided him to the buttons of her blouse and helped him steady his fingers to undo them. His eyes were fixed on her now, the pupils huge with desire, and the same rapt interest was being shown elsewhere in his body as she encouraged him to slip off her clothing.

When they were both totally naked, she allowed him one eager kiss, then led him on to the next stage of his recollections: "What happened next, Malcolm?"

Reluctantly, he moved away from her and got to his feet. "Archer told me all about the Valdorians' bodies, and how...how much they were going to...to hurt me, then the others came in and threw me on the bed...here."

He sat down and Rose joined him, gently pushing him back until they were in the position that had triggered his terror during their previous attempt at lovemaking. Again, he tensed, grasping handfuls of the quilt, his eyes wild with panic, remembering the violations that had been visited upon him. Sweat began to break out on his skin and Rose knew they'd reached the main obstacle he had to overcome. Only his own desperate need not to let his longed for happiness with Rose escape him was keeping him from giving in to his terror and bolting. She was shaking too now, but she forged ahead—knowing there was no other way to help him. "Malcolm, you need to tell me what they did next."

A whimper escaped his thinned lips and he gazed at her pleadingly, tears again beginning to gather. "They...God help me...they held my legs and...and got inside me and...oh, Rose, it hurt. I was so...so afraid..." He began to weep in earnest: "...and I screamed and cried like a coward...like now."

Rose was cooing reassurances again as she gently massaged his thighs, letting her hands slide up to his hips, where she planted an affectionate kiss on his tattoo. Then she moved carefully round to his buttocks, kneading and squeezing as she went. The sobbing continued, but diminished a little, as she returned to his thighs, easing them apart and letting her hand slide through to his rear, her fingers tenderly exploring the cleft and the opening which had been so barbarically used.

He was holding his breath and watching her now, lashes still wet, eyes still frightened, but her loving touches were focusing his attention and, she was pleased to note, definitely arousing him! She smiled: "I love you, Malcolm. I won't do anything to harm you. Not now, not ever." Ducking her head between his legs, she began nibbling, kissing and licking where, moments before, her fingers had been. His soft cries of need and pleasure made her heart leap with joy.

Looking up, she saw his pale cheekbones were flushed with excitement and he was breathing again—fast and a little erratically. Making sure he was watching, she wet the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth then returned to pressing it against his opening, hearing his hiccupping breath as she slipped it slowly inside. He bit his lip, moaned and pushed against her, so she ventured a little further and took her massaging to the next level. When her stroking, exploring finger found its target, he let out a yelp of delight: "That's it, my sweet Malcolm. There are two sides to every coin: what hurts when done with evil intent can heal when its done with love."

Although he was still grasping fistfuls of the quilt, his head was thrown back now, his eyes tightly closed, and he made small, kittenish sounds as his hips squirmed against her busy hands. Rose smiled: time for the grand finale. Withdrawing her finger slowly, she turned her attention to his genitals, stroking and pulling, cupping and squeezing, sucking and nibbling. He moaned loudly at her ministrations and she quickly knelt astride his hips, positioning him very precisely.

Then she sat down—hard.

Malcolm Reed had always been a quiet man. Even while working with ordnance and creating the explosions he so loved, he preferred to be distant from the accompanying racket. On Enterprise, he'd been seen as reserved—listening while others talked but seldom taking part—and he rarely, if ever, raised his voice.

He was raising it now.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his father was scolding him, telling him that Reeds were well brought up individuals who never drew attention to themselves or made unnecessary noise. He mentally told the man to sod off: this was necessary noise. Very, VERY necessary!

Rose had been making an extremely effective job of counteracting his negative remembrances of what had happened in this room and her questing fingers were efficiently soothing the deep, inner pain that flared whenever intimacy even crossed his mind. His fear was gradually being edged out in favour of excitement and his thoughts had been almost totally on her searching touch deep inside him. Now he was lost in her and he was howling with ecstasy! There was nothing else in his world but Rose: she was all around him, covering his body and shattering his thoughts. When she moved, he went with her, pulling her closer, feeling her flesh devour his, wanting more.

Above the hammering of his heartbeat, he heard her voice raised, high and clear, calling his name, promising her love, and he barely recognised his own crying out urgently in reply.

The explosion, when it came, set every nerve in his body on fire, his overloaded senses singing out with joy! He was vaguely aware of convulsing and shrieking in a most unbecoming manner—but it really didn't matter. All that mattered was the woman who was now wrapped around him, face pressed against his, murmuring endearments and making him realise that, for the first time in his life, he was completely and utterly loved.

When their breathing had returned to normal, Rose, smiling broadly, slid off him and onto the bed, propping herself on one elbow so she could watch his reactions. He looked a little stunned but happy and she grinned at him: "Wow! We really should apologise to the neighbours." Malcolm blushed, then smiled and shyly peeked at her through lowered lashes "Mmm. It was awfully nice, though."

Suddenly serious, he turned on his side to face her "I was terrified when you arranged for us to come here, and a little bit resentful because I thought you were getting impatient with me, but I should have trusted you. You saw that leaving me to my own devices was making me worse and knew exactly what to do to help me—and you have helped. I'll never be able to thank you enough." She leaned over and kissed him on the lips "You just have. Now, since neither of us has been sleeping well, and we've just used up a fair bit of energy, why don't we have a nap? Then maybe we can use up a little more energy in the shower?"

Four days later, the hotel room well and truly exorcised, they boarded a shuttle that would take them back to Novos. Malcolm had had a few nightmares and fits of weeping in that time, but he was able now to sweep them aside and move on. He no longer saw the room only as the venue for the worst day of his life but, more often, as a place of rebirth.

Vince and Tessa, standing with Monty at the shuttle pad, welcomed them back to Base Camp with hugs and kisses. The doctor studied them both with interest: "Well, since Malcolm just let me put my arm round his shoulder without so much as blinking, it looks like your little trip was a success. How're you feeling, son?"

Seeing Rose wink at him, Malcolm blushed furiously "Umm. I'm fine, thanks. We...we covered quite a lot of ground, ah, emotionally speaking. I...I'm much better."

"Great! Good to see you in some decent clothes too."

Rose laughed: "We went to the market on our last day and spent the entire allowance Starfleet sent him. We bought three pairs of everything! Your wardrobe is safe again, Tessa."

The older woman grinned "Hopefully, we won't be the same size for much longer anyway." She directed her remarks specifically to Malcolm: "Not now that you've started eating properly...haven't you?"

Still blushing at being the centre of attention, Malcolm shot Rose a "Help me!" look. She smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief: "He's eating like a horse, Tess. Hung like one too. My very own stallion: I can hardly walk."

Malcolm's strangled cry of horror set both women giggling and Vince, chuckling, led him away to dump their baggage in Rose's cabin, leaving her to fuss over Monty and gossip further with his wife.

"Well, Malcolm, Bill George, her deputy, told me she'd called him from Parros to ask if he'd be willing to take over as Excavation Director to let her go with you when you leave. I guess that means she does like you after all!"

Eyes shining, Malcolm nodded, clearly thrilled with the development. "She says she loves me more than anybody or anything else in the universe! Isn't that amazing?"

Enjoying the younger man's happiness, Vince couldn't resist teasing him "Not really, since you're hung like a horse!"

Three weeks later, the entire population of Base Camp turned out to see the Enterprise shuttle pod arrive to collect Malcolm and Rose and spirit them away to their new life together in space. The Enquiry was over, Trip Tucker was in a secure penal colony in New Zealand, having been convicted as an accessory in Archer's crimes, and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had been given his old job back. A new uniform had been beamed down for him a day previously and now he stood, immaculate but nervous, watching as the shuttle landed and Captain T'Pol, elegant and dignified as ever, stepped out, with Travis Mayweather and Dr Phlox in tow.

Rose, in an emerald green dress which complimented her auburn hair and flawless complexion, and wearing her Aztec jewellery—salvaged from the waste bin the day after she'd almost been killed protecting Malcolm—nudged the Lieutenant "Jeez, Malcolm, you might have told me she was a goddess! I've spent three hours trying to scrub up to meet your crewmates and now I feel like something the cat dragged in."

Chuckling softly, he took her left hand and brought it to his lips, thrilled anew to see her wearing the opal ring he'd secretly bought her in Parros, and presented to her on the night of their return to Novos—when he asked her to marry him. "You're the most beautiful woman here, love, and I'm not just saying that because you're my fiance!"

Stretching up, she planted a quick peck on his cheek "You say the nicest things...but don't stop."

Malcolm was still grinning when T'Pol and her small delegation reached them. Although, in the last few weeks, he had managed to make friends among the men working on the dig, he still felt a pang of anxiety at seeing another man in Starfleet uniform, albeit Travis. Rose felt him shudder and gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting it go so he could come to attention before his commanding officer.

T'Pol inclined her head in acknowledgement "At ease, Lieutenant."

The Vulcan nodded a greeting to Rose as introductions were made on both sides then she motioned to Mayweather to hand her a data padd he had been carrying. Malcolm fidgeted a little and Rose frowned, worried that he was agitated. T'Pol turned to her "Ms O'Leary, two days ago, I had a communication from Lieutenant Reed during which he asked me a...favour which I would be honoured to grant. If you are willing, he would like me now to marry you both, in the presence of your friends and colleagues. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Rose shot Malcolm a look of delighted amazement: "I...I'm willing. Oh yes! I'm willing! Thank you, Captain."

There was another graceful nod then T'Pol quickly scanned the data padd before placing the couple opposite one another with Phlox and Travis behind Malcolm while Vince and Tessa seconded Rose. The ceremony was brief and—oddly enough, since a Vulcan was officiating—suffused with emotion. Travis had, at Malcolm's request, brought with him a small, red velvet pouch, from which Malcolm took a gold wedding band, which had belonged to his late aunt Cherie—a woman who had meant a great deal to him during his less than happy childhood. It was a little big for Rose but was kept securely in place by her opal engagement ring.

As T'Pol concluded the ceremony, she fixed her gaze meaningfully on Rose: "And now, as I understand that human marriage is based on mutual trust and honesty, I believe your new husband has something to tell you."

For a moment, Rose's heart seemed to stop beating. What could he have been keeping from her? What was wrong? She stared worriedly and him and saw him begin to smile "As of today, I've formally resigned my commission in Starfleet. I'll remain in their employ as a defence analyst but I'll be based here, at Novos, where my wife is Excavation Director."

Finding her voice with difficulty, Rose stammered "But...but I made...I made arrangements...with Bill George...I...I resigned too!"

Bill was standing a few feet away, grinning in a way that would have rivalled Phlox at his Denobulan best! "I was in on it Rosie. You're still the big cheese!"

Stunned but ecstatic, Rose threw her arms around Malcolm and received a bone-crushing hug in return "I love you, Mrs Reed. How could I ever take you away from all this?"

Applause, laughter and whistles were ringing in her ears as the assembled company erupted. Excited by the sound, Monty began to bark and Rose was surprised to hear answering yelps, from somewhere nearby, which rapidly turned into baleful howls. T'Pol frowned and Phlox shuffled his feet: "Oh dear. I think its time for his walk."

Travis saw Malcolm's puzzled look: "Porthos is in the shuttle. Phlox has been looking after him since Archer and Tucker went away but he's not really settling down. I think he's pining. The doc thought some fresh air planetside might perk him up a little."

All eyes were on the Denobulan as he reappeared with a small beagle on a leash. Monty, already straining at his own leash, went berserk! JJ, who'd been holding him, was pulled off his feet as the enormous mongrel took off in Phlox's direction and the Denobulan's eyes widened in horror.

Malcolm, convinced blood was about to be shed, grabbed Rose and pulled her to him, hiding her face in his shoulder. There was shouting, barking, then laughter, and he cautiously looked round. Porthos was lying on his back, wriggling in delight, while Monty nuzzled him. Seconds later, he was tearing around the clearing, happily playing with the much larger dog.

Phlox ambled over to the wedding party, his face apparently splitting in a smile. "Well, Mr Reed, like yourself, I think Porthos has found a soul mate. Would you care to consider him a wedding gift?"

Glancing over at Rose, who was watching the canine pas de deux with glee, he accepted graciously. "Thank you, Doctor. I think that would be most agreeable to both my wife and myself."

He didn't miss T'Pol's control slipping sufficiently to let her sigh in relief at the thought of one less unpleasant smell aboard Enterprise!

That night, cuddled together in bed in what JJ had, rather primitively, signposted "The Reeds' Place", the newly-weds watched Monty and Porthos squashed together, fast asleep, in Monty's basket. Rose sighed "Aren't they sweet?"

Malcolm had been idly stroking circles on his wife's stomach and he turned back to her and smiled, letting his fingers wander lower. "Not as sweet as you, my perfect Rose."

She drew in a sharp breath and held it, as his hand continued its exploration, then rolled over onto her back, pulling him on top of her and spreading her legs so he fit neatly between them. She moaned: "Nor you...my stallion."


End file.
